


He Paints

by lolahardy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:00:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1183841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolahardy/pseuds/lolahardy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur discovers that Eames paints.</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Paints

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the latest picture of Tom Hardy painting
> 
> Beta-ed by [Leesha](http://darlingleesha.tumblr.com) :3

Eames was a painter.

Arthur felt he shouldn’t have been surprised but nonetheless, he was.

They had been dating for a little while and Arthur had never spent the night at his place before. Not for lack of want - mainly because any time they went out, they usually returned to Arthur’s place. He liked his own bed, he liked showering in his own bathroom without having to borrow a towel and he liked to make breakfast in his own kitchen. He felt he was a gracious host as well and never minded having Eames over.

Last night after dinner and some drinks, Eames invited him over. Arthur didn’t get a chance to look around too much when they got there; they ended up going to bed almost immediately. In the morning light, Arthur woke up by himself, curled up on Eames’ bed the sheets and blankets tucked around him as he held onto a pillow. Arthur yawned as he opened his eyes, turning over and seeing Eames’ side of the bed empty, the curtains in the bedroom drawn but beams of light streaming in and lighting up the room. He sat up, feeling the covers fall off him as he looked around, having a chance to glance into Eames’ private world.

There was a dresser with various bottles of cologne and random jewelry strewn about on top. There was no mirror and some of the drawers were slightly open with bits of clothes sticking out from them. Near the door were some pairs of sneakers and boots. The rest of the floor consisted of clothes; both Eames and Arthur’s. On the nightstand closest to Arthur were Eames’ wallet, phone, and a regular alarm clock. The walls were bare and a soft sea foam green color. The closet door was closed though Arthur suspected it was messy in there. He slowly threw back the blankets and got to his feet, looking on the floor for a moment before he found his underwear and put them on as he then sought for a shirt. He didn’t want to wear his wrinkled button down so after a bit of searching, he found the light gray V-neck t-shirt with a Dia de los Muretos design on the back that Eames wore last night and put that on, feeling it fall to the very tops of his thighs. He crossed his arms as he walked out of the bedroom and tried to listen out for any signs that Eames was around.

Surely he hadn’t left him alone in his apartment?

As Arthur headed to the kitchen, he was deterred when he heard a noise coming from down the hall in what had to be the spare bedroom. The door was half way open so Arthur didn’t see a problem going to it and peeking in. What he had thought was a spare bedroom, turned out to be an art studio. Canvases, both blank and painted on rested against the walls, some larger ones were hanging along with sheets of paper with notes and doodles tacked up in the smaller spaces. There was a large tarp covering the hardwood floors and Eames sat on the far end of the room were the best light from the window came through. There was a desk covered in papers and stacks of books and paintbrushes all over it, stained with various colors.

Arthur was in awe of the work, all of it different, as if Eames was still searching for a style that suit him best - but all of it amazing. Eames wore sweatpants that were well below his waist, his boxer briefs sticking out and almost completely revealed. He was bare foot and bare-chested, his back hunched over as he leaned closer to the canvas. His back muscles rolled softly with every roll of his shoulder, of his neck, of his arms, making his tattoos shift, especially when he sat up. The smell of paint and cigarette smoke lingered in the air. Arthur noticed there was a nearly full ashtray near Eames’ foot, in front of the canvas he was currently painting on.

As Arthur looked at the canvas and while he couldn’t really see what it was, he didn’t focus too much on it. He just went up to Eames, putting his arms around him and kissing the side of his neck.

“Hey, good morning.”

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Good. Your bed is surprisingly comfortable.”

Eames laughed a little and Arthur had a chance to look down and see Eames holding a paintbrush, a palette resting on the lip of the canvas, his fingers stained with the colors he was using. He didn’t look at the canvas, feeling as if he was intruding enough in Eames’ privacy.

“Are you hungry? I can make us breakfast.”

“Sure. Thank you.”

Arthur kissed Eames’ scruff cheek as he stepped back and began to head to the kitchen when he heard Eames ask,

“Don’t you want to know what I’m painting?”

Arthur looked over his shoulder and gave him a smile as he said,

“I’m sure you’ll show me when you’re done later.”


End file.
